


Right as Rain

by ashintuku



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 11:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7682539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashintuku/pseuds/ashintuku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they first came into the facility, Angela had no idea what Winston was thinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right as Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Theycallmethanatos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theycallmethanatos/gifts).



When they first came into the facility, Angela had no idea what Winston was thinking. 

She had been chasing down Reinhardt about an injury from a previous mission, trying to prescribe him pain medication or even helpful exercises if he didn't want the pills. But the older man was stubborn and surprisingly elusive for a man so large, and she was just about to give up for the day when Winston called her over. 

Looking over, she saw the hulking, nervous gorilla smiling at her a little unsurely and waving her over with a large hand, glasses perched delicately on his nose and body armor a bit smudged with dirt. Angela thought that a little bit strange, as Winston was always so careful with his armor - but then she saw who her old friend was standing with. 

She saw the big one first. Nearly as tall as Reinhardt, with a substantial girth and tattoos that stood out like an eyesore. He was gritty and grimy and sooty, and his face was completely obscured by a mask that strongly resembled a pig. Eyes widening a little, Angela made her way towards Winston and this mountain of a man, and only then noticed the slighter, hunched figure between the two of them. 

If she thought his companion was dirty, this young man was absolutely filthy. Soot and ash covered his face and shoulders, flyaway blond hair looked singed and a little crispy, and the giant, spiked tire on his back did little to distract her from noticing the man's two prosthetic limbs. She wondered how he lost his arm and his leg; and then again wondered why it was the prosthetics looked so... basic and unwieldy. What medical professional approved those limbs? _Had_ he seen a medical professional? 

"Doctor Ziegler, I'm glad you're here - I wanted to introduce to you two of our newest agents." 

"Oh?" Angela blinked, eyebrows rising towards her hairline, and turned to the two in question. "A pleasure to meet you. I am Doctor Angela Ziegler - though I am called 'Mercy' on the field." 

"Right, right, nice t'meet ya, Doc. I'm called Junkrat and this here's my buddy, Roadhog." 'Junkrat' grinned a wide, sharp grin, stepping forward with an uneven _clunk_ and holding out the prosthetic. Angela paused only for a moment before accepting his hand, noting that the metal was warm and scratched and dinged up, but carefully maintained for all of that, and cleaner than most of the rest of him. 

"They're mercenaries," Winston clarified after a moment, shifting a little, and Angela noted that he seemed particularly more uncomfortable than was usual. "They've agreed to help us, however, for, ah... Asylum?" 

"Asylum?" Angela's eyebrows rose even higher, turning to look at the grinning Junkrat more closely. It took her a moment, but underneath all that soot was a face she recognized. "You're the two junkers that have been all over the news." 

"Right, yeah, that's us," Junkrat nodded, still smiling like being a known terror to the globe was no huge issue. "Bit off more'n we could chew, though, y'know? Thought we'd best try and go _legit_ an' all'a that, get some of the attention off'uv our backs an' all."

Angela pursed her lips, glancing at Winston to see him subtly shrugging his massive shoulders - how a gorilla was able to make such tiny, careful gestures, she would never quite understand - before clearing his throat. Angela stepped away from the two junkers, folding her hands in front of her and noting that the hand she shook Junkrat's with was smudged. She'd need to clean and sanitize that. 

"I was just about to show them to their quarters. Will we see you at dinnertime, Doctor?" 

"Hm?" Angela turned to Winston again, smiling a little. "Oh, I am not sure. I have many things that need looking over. ... But I will try, Winston." She glanced back to Roadhog and Junkrat, dipping her head in a nod. "I look forward to working with you." 

"See ya later, Doc!" Junkrat said loudly, grinning his wide grin. Roadhog only grunted, a deep guttural sound that settled at the base of Angela's spine and awoke a fight-or-flight instinct that only occurred during battle. She then turned on her heel and walked away from the three, listening as Winston began talking again, leading them to the personal quarters. 

She listened as they walked away, Winston's tread distinctive against Roadhog's heavy stomping and Junkrat's uneven gait, and she wondered at the sheer desperation that was Overwatch's recruiting. 

~+~

It was shortly after the two junkers had established themselves in the Gibraltar outpost that they were called out on another mission. 

Donning her Valkyrie suit, she adjusted gloves and armor pieces, checking and rechecking to make sure that the nanobiotic technology that powered her suit's healing capabilities were all in working order. She then grabbed her Caduceus staff and her pistol, holstering the pistol where it wouldn't get in her way and setting the staff against her wall within reach; rolling her shoulders and feeling the heavy, comforting weight of her wings, for the moment powered down, shift with each movement. Her headpiece was last, telling her the vitals of her teammates and showing her when someone needed medical aid. 

It was a masterpiece of modern science and medicine; armor and a pharmacy in one mobile suit, and she appreciated how much it had helped her save people throughout the years: both during Overwatch's prime and after its disbandment. 

Grabbing her staff once more, Angela made her way towards the outpost's runway and to the plane that would carry them to their destination. 

In a blink, Tracer was loping up next to her, grinning her wide grin and orange goggles cheerfully in place. 

"H'lo, Doc! Ready to take down some baddies and save the world again?" 

"I believe that is your job, Lena," Angela said, smiling softly down at the younger girl. "I am only here to make sure you are able to do that job well, and with as little damage as possible." 

"Wicked!" Tracer grinned even wider, folding her hands behind her head. "Those nano-things always feel so funny - but nice'n'warm, too! Oh, did'ja know those two new ones are coming with us? Junkrat and Roadhog?" Here, Tracer's eyes widened. "They're a bit mad, aren't they?" 

"They are... eccentric," Angela said, scrunching her nose a little. "Very different compared to everyone else. But they are working with us, so we shall have to do our best to get along, yes?" 

"I'unno, the big one scares me. And Junkrat's completely bonkers if y'ask me, luv. Heard 'im testin' cherrybombs in the lab the other day. Gave Symm a right scare, he did!" 

"Oh, he's testing _live_ explosives?" Angela's brow furrowed at the thought. When she had learned that Junkrat was an explosives expert, she had been a little wary. To know he was testing live munitions _inside_ , however, well. That was just _dangerous_. "Was anyone hurt?" 

"Nah, apparently he just singed his hair a li'l bit and Symm gave 'im what for. Torbjörn was amused - he's the one who told me, y'know, thought it was a great story. Made it seem funnier than it prob'ly was, too." Tracer shook her head, feathery locks of brown falling in front of her eyes. She blew them up out of the way again, stretching her arms high above her head. "But Winston says they're here t'help, and I guess we gotta trust the big guy, right? Seems strange we'd accept wanted criminals, though. Ah, desperate times - gotta miss the good ol' days at times like these!" With one last shake of her head and arms, she grinned over at Angela and gave her a quick salute. "See ya on the plane, luv!" And off she went in a streak of blue, gone before Angela could even reply. 

She made her way to the runway at a slower pace, coming up to the ramp just as Symmetra arrived, looking as careful and pristine as ever. The Vishkar agent nodded her head politely to Angela, making her way up the ramp and going to find her seat for the fly over; Angela following her. As she stepped onto the plane, she caught Reinhardt's eye: the man in full armor sans his helmet. 

"Hello, Reinhardt." 

"Angie!" The older man grinned, patting the seat next to him with a heavy hand. Angela moved over to him and sat down beside him, setting her staff against the wall next to her. "You look well, my dear! Though a bit tired." 

"That will happen when one is chasing stubborn soldiers all around the outpost," Angela said lightly, and Reinhardt at least had the decency to look sheepish. "You pulled a muscle, Reinhardt, and a man of your years..." 

"Ah, it was nothing! Do not worry, my friend, all is well." He pressed his hand to her back lightly, grinning at her his usual, exuberant grin; the white of his blind eye shining softly in the light of the plane's interior. "You will stick close to me this mission, yes?" 

"I will go where I am needed, Reinhardt," Angela said, shaking her head. "Do not worry about me." 

"I'm afraid I always will. I have never liked bringing you into the battlefield. You are the best doctor in all of the world, but your pistol can only do so much - it is not safe." 

"Not for any of us. At least with me in the field, no one will be unnecessarily hurt. Or worse - killed." Angela swallowed, looking down at her lap and curling her fingers into fists. "I cannot allow that to happen - not when I could do something." After a moment, she looked over at him, smiling faintly. "You understand, don't you, my old friend?" 

"...Yes, I do indeed, my dear." Reinhardt smiled, but it was a quiet, nearly sad thing, and Angela wondered if he was thinking of the same two friends who weren't with them. 

Their quiet remembrance was broken by the arrival of the two junkers, Junkrat's clunking lope and Roadhog's heavy tread causing everyone already inside to look over at them. The two paused, Junkrat looking around at the ragtag group of apparent heroes, before grinning his wide, sharp grin. 

"G'day!" He gave a two-fingered salute, hobbling over to the seats farthest away from everyone else. He dropped his spiked wheel on the ground, against the wall, settling into the seat beside it. Roadhog took up at least two seats on his own, hands folded over his protruding stomach and blank eyes staring straight ahead. "Feels like a good day for mayhem, dunnit?" 

"Hopefully not too much," Angela said after a moment, wrinkling her nose. "I, for one, would like a relatively quiet mission." 

"Ah, quiet's borin', Doc, s'too borin'. You'll see." Junkrat nodded wisely, eyes closed and hand held in the air as if he had just given out wisdom. Angela shook her head, looking at Reinhardt from the corner of her eye to see the older man's shoulders shaking in suppressed laughter. Nothing more could be said just then, however, as Winston finally lumbered into the ship, looking around and smiling at the assembled group. 

"Are we all ready?" Everyone nodded, voicing out agreements and affirmatives, and the gorilla nodded again. "Alright, I'll go tell Tracer we're ready for take-off. Make sure you're all comfortable - it'll be a long flight for us." 

Winston walked away, then, to the pilot's seat up the flight of stairs, and Angela leaned her head back and closed her eyes; listening to her companions and hoping that the mission would go off without too much trouble. 

~+~

They were protecting a valuable energy source in Dorado, escorting it to the new power plant that the company LumériCo Industries had built within the city not too long ago. A valuable resource both to the plant and to the city, the team had been called in by the president of Mexico, asking them to protect the energy source from the local gang, Los Muertos - a group of so-called vigilantes with a vendetta as big as anything. 

For the most part, Mercy was able to stay close to Reinhardt and his shield, keeping an eye on the others as they moved around the payload and urged the driver of the simple pick-up truck forward. _Why_ such a valuable resource was being moved by a simple farming truck, Mercy was quite unsure. 

At the moment, though, they were stuck at a chokehold; the gang pushing them back, and they trying their best to push forward. Mercy glided away from Reinhardt's side when she noted Tracer's vitals dropping, the soft yellow light of her healing stream reaching out to her as soon as she was close enough. 

"Thanks, luv!" Tracer said gratefully, breathing in deeply and keeping to cover for the moment. "They're a determined bunch, aren't they? Wonder why they don't want the power plant to do well?" 

"I'm sure they have their reasons," Mercy said, disengaging the healing stream once Tracer's vitals were back to normal. "However, they appear to have some type of defense closer to the plant proper. Perhaps you can try and take a look?" 

"That's what I'm here for!" Tracer grinned, winked at the doctor, and then was off in a blink. Mercy sighed, smiling, before turning to see how the others were doing. An explosion sounded, then, and she looked up to see Junkrat sailing through the air, lobbying off grenades with a mad giggle before landing with a thump just beside her. 

It was then she realized she could not see his vitals. 

"Junkrat!" 

The explosives expert looked over at her, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, Doc?" 

"Do you not have your communicator on you?" 

"Hey? Oh, nah, that thing? Would'a just gotten in me way, y'know how it is. S'fine, s'fine--" 

"It is _not_ fine, Junkrat, the communicators have a function that serves _me_ \- it has a duel function that keeps track your vitals! Are you injured? Are you bleeding? I _need_ that information to be able to help you!" 

Junkrat's eyes widened, his hunched shoulders seeming to hunch more, and Mercy took a moment to close her eyes and breathe. In the distance, she heard what she thought were cries of pain, but when she opened her eyes again and turned to look, nothing came up on her headpiece's scanners. She turned back to the dirty mercenary. 

"'m fine, sheila-- Doc. Promise, 'm fine." He held his hands up, straightening up a little under her flat stare. "Swear I'd tell ya." 

"If you would just _wear_ your _communicator_ \--" 

The sound of footsteps overwhelmed her, then, and Mercy and Junkrat looked around to see, not their comrades, but members of Los Muertos in their neon glow heading towards them. 

"How good's that pistol o'yours, Doc?" 

"It's defensive. ....and my aim is poor." 

"....Nothin' fer it, then." Junkrat pulled down his launcher, firing off all five rounds. He looked at Mercy. "I'll keep 'em off your back, Doc - y'best start runnin'." 

"I will not leave you behind--" 

"I spent 25 years or sommodd in the Outback, Doc," Junkrat interrupted, grin turning sharp. "Me? I'll be just fine. Now _git_ , would ya?" 

Mercy narrowed her eyes, huffed, but turned and stared to run; the sound of Junkrat reloading his grenade launcher sounding loudly behind her. 

When she saw him again a little over an hour later at the power plant, energy source successfully delivered, Roadhog was with him and he was holding a hand to his side and grinning tiredly as Mercy glared at him. 

"When we return to the outpost, you're coming to the clinic with me," she said sternly. The junker opened his mouth to argue, and Roadhog calmly placed his larger hand over his entire face. "Thank you." 

"Hm." 

"I actually need both of you to come - I need to create your medical files for future reference." Roadhog nodded when she paused, and she smiled at him thankfully. "Excellent. I will see you both once we land. As for you, Junkrat - come here now, I will help with the pain." 

Roadhog nudged his scrawny friend forward, and Mercy took no time at all to engage the healing stream of her staff, watching as Junkrat shivered at the feeling and the wound on his side shrunk a little; she imagined the pain had dulled to a slight ache, as well. 

"Now, however did you get away? I am lucky Tracer came looking for me when she noticed I was not with the others." 

"Eh?" Junkrat blinked, looking over at her, before shrugging. "Some weird bloke in a jacket and facemask showed up and most'a the other fellas disappeared quick after that. Didn't get t'say anythin' - was gone too quick." He shrugged, poking at his side; only stopping when Roadhog pressed a hand to his shoulder in a somewhat threatening manner. "Overall 'm right as rain. Well, mostly." 

"...Please rest during the flight back to base." 

"Yes, m'um." 

"Thank you."

~+~

It was as she was poking and prodding at Junkrat with a scanner that she learned some things. 

First, the case of irradiation poisoning that he had was so deeply rooted that it had become a moot point; the poison threaded through with everything else that made him tick, benign outside of the fact that it was irradiation poisoning. Secondly, the ends of his amputated limbs were gnarled, scarred-up messes, indicating that no, the young man never _had_ seen a medical professional when the injuries happened. This upset her on a professional level, honestly, and made her wonder at the state of the country of Australia that young men could be left to wander the Outback, alone and bleeding or worse, and no one would try to help.

Thirdly, his name was actually Jamison Fawkes, and she was a little surprised at how tame of a name it was. 

"Where did you get your limbs?" she asked as she went to work testing his blood pressure and reflexes and breathing, ignoring the way his fidgeting eyes followed her around as if waiting for her to stab him with a needle - or worse. 

"Made 'em meself. The arm was hard, wunnit, what with me usin' only the one hand I had left." 

"You had no help?" 

"Some lady who found me not too long after the 'spolsion that got me, she bandaged me up tight enough that I didn't bleed out. Probably stayed with me a day or two to make sure I'd live. Didn't bother t'help me make the arm, though, did she? So piss on 'er." 

"Mr Fawkes." 

The junker wrinkled his nose. 

"Never shoulda told you that. That makes me feel like a _suit_."

"Jamison, then. You shouldn't speak ill of those who have helped you in the past." 

"Ah, that sorta help don't mean much in the Outback, Doc, not by a long shot. S'all just clearin' out yer conscious at that point. 'I helped some soddin' bloke not kick it 'cause he blew himself up. I can sleep fer a night and then go steal loot from someone else and not feel so guilty'. Ain't no such thing as 'good deeds' without motive down under."

"That is a terrible way to think," Angela said, frowning even as she examined the base of what seemed to be the nerve connectors to his arm. They were actually rather good, if rudimentary, and she couldn't think of any upgrades that wouldn't imbalance the delicate system he had crafted himself. Junkrat shrugged again as she helped him reconnect his arm; Angela softly asking him to move his fingers one at a time so she could test the response time from his brain to his limb. 

"S'an honest way t'think, though, innit Roadie?" 

Roadhog, or Mako Rutledge as he informed her, grunted from his place at the waiting chairs along the wall, hands folding over his stomach and thumbs tapping out a metric beat, as if he were counting the time. 

Angela pressed her lips together but didn't push, instead moving to his prosthetic leg and taking a moment to stare at it. 

"...You took such pains to create a workable hand, and yet you use a peg leg for your leg?" 

"S'me right hand, innit? Need that, gotta make sure it all works right an' proper. The leg, though, don't need nothin' fancy fer that, do I? Just need somethin' to stand on. Peg works just fine. I ain't the fastest bloke, but I can get around. 'Sides, it was frustratin' enough makin' the hand, didn't want t'go through all that again fer a lousy foot." 

Angela took a moment to stare at Junkrat, really just letting the words sink in, before she sighed and ducked her head; hiding a little smile. 

"We could have a foot made for you, if you'd like." 

Junkrat tilted his head, staring at her with wide, amber eyes, before shaking his head; singed locks of blond flopping, revealing bald patches that had pale fuzz growing back. She raised her eyebrows back at him. 

"Nah - s'not worth it, is it? Gotten used t'the peg, got a balance and all'a that. Don't wanna screw that up, Doc, 'm good. 'Sides, does Overwatch really have those kind'a funds?" 

Mercy wrinkled her nose but stayed quiet, knowing that he was right, really. They had more important things to turn their limited funds to, and those weren't prosthetic legs or little things that would make someone's life easier. They needed to focus on the big things, and she knew and understood that; but it bothered her all the same. What kind of doctor was she, she thought, that she couldn't even help someone make their life at least a little more comfortable? 

She shook her head when Junkrat made a confused humming noise at her prolonged silence, straightening up and picking up her clipboard to mark down a few notes. "Alright, then. I'd like to get your weight before I move onto Mr Rutledge. If you could stand on the scale, that would be helpful. Stand up _straightly_ , if you would." 

"Right, yeah, straight, I can do that." He hopped off the table, wobbling a little bit before steadying. "Just over 'ere, yeah?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Not a problem, Doc, s'just a bit'o standin', innit?"

" _Straightly_ , Jamison."

"Yeah, right, sorry."

~+~

A few weeks of quiet passed, the newly inhabited outpost falling into a kind of pattern where everyone had their own duties and a fragile peace was established. 

Of course there were problems. Arguments broke out every few days, people grew frustrated at other's habits, team exercises ended badly more often than not. 

Angela had her hands full just trying to keep everything in the clinic up to par with what she needed, without the aid of nurses, assistants, or any kind of support staff to think of. It was almost like the medical camps she established in warzones throughout the years after Overwatch ended, where she would take the help of locals and do what she could with limited resources. Satisfying in the field, of course, especially when it succeeded - but out in Gibraltar, where they were meant to make headquarters and coordinate plans of defence and attack, it was a bit frustrating. 

The constant disagreements and arguments just outside her office didn't help. 

Calmly putting down her files, she stared at the door across the room for a moment; a headache growing in her temples and her neck tensing up from the raised voices just outside. It sounded like Symmetra and Junkrat were arguing once more. They had been ever since Junkrat had settled into the lab, bringing his chaotic sense of order with him. Angela imagined that the mess brought a sense of discomfort and vague panic to Symmetra every time she was forced to coexist with it. 

The voices outside raised, and she breathed in deeply, startling only when the door opened and revealed Roadhog lumbering inside. The door closed behind him quietly, and Angela straightened a little in her seat as she watched the older, larger junker approach. 

"...Good afternoon, Mr Rutledge," she greeted, smiling a little. The blank mask revealed nothing, and she shifted a bit in her seat. "May I help you...?" 

Roadhog said nothing, before setting something down on her desk. When she glanced at it, she saw it was a cup of tea, still steaming, and her eyes widened a fraction. She then looked up at Roadhog again, seeing him still staring at her; but instead of blankness, the mask seemed to tell her he knew she was growing tense. 

"...Mako," he said after a moment, and Angela jerked a little in surprise. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Mako. Not Mr Rutledge." 

Angela blinked rapidly, feeling a bit off kilter about this entire meeting, before nodding slowly. 

"...Thank you, Mako." 

Roadhog grunted, apparently satisfied, and left just as abruptly as he arrived. When he was gone for nearly ten minutes, the arguing from outside having moved on five minutes before, Angela finally reached out and took the cup of tea, sipping at it cautiously and finding it doctored in, not the way she would fix it up, but a pleasing way all the same. 

She closed her eyes, sipping her tea, and wondered at the actions of strange junkers. 

~+~

Angela was not there when the outpost received new arrivals in the form of an old friend in a poncho. 

She had been busy with a small team in Ilios, tending wounds and doing her best to avoid being shot at. She found that the more they fought, the more their enemies realized what her role in the entire team was; and as a result, she became a target more often than not. It was a little tiring, but familiar at the same time; reminding her of the days that Overwatch was in its prime, fighting rogue Omnics and the growing organization of Talon. 

But they were successful keeping the Talon agents out of the picturesque town, with only a few scrapes and bruises and one particularly ugly cut on Reinhardt's side that she demanded she look at as soon as they landed. It was when she was poking at the cut, the older man sitting on her examination table in his under armor with the shirt dragged up, that she learned about their new arrival. 

By said arrival. 

"Well, Doc, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" 

Angela straightened up and turned around as soon as she heard the beginnings of that familiar drawl, mouth growing into a surprised smile as she took in the sight of Jesse McCree in the flesh. 

"Jesse!" She turned to see Reinhardt smiling at her fondly, and narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, you knew he was coming, didn't you? Is he your distraction so you can escape?" 

"Angie! I would never," Reinhardt pressed a hand to his chest dramatically, and Angela rolled her eyes, causing him to laugh. "However, I think we can both agree the cut is nothing but a scratch, yes?" 

"Oh, it's a bit more than that, but nothing that a bandage and ointment won't fix. Which you will _wear_ , Reinhardt Wilhelm, am I clear?"

"Crystal, Angie." 

"Very good." Angela picked up a roll of bandages and an ointment that would help with infections, pressing both into his hands. "Have Brigette help with that, if you would, and call me if you notice anything wrong or out of the ordinary, yes?" 

"Oh, I would not wish to bother you with such a little thing--" 

" _Reinhardt_." 

He held up his free hand, smiling and hopping to his feet. As he passed McCree, he clapped him on the shoulder; the cowboy stumbling a little upon impact. And then Reinhardt was gone, and Angela turned to her old friend with a warm smile. 

She stepped forward and immediately wrapped her arms around him, sighing a little when he wrapped his arms around her in return in a quick, warm squeeze. 

"It's good to see you, Jesse - it's been far too long! Though, I _have_ seen your face now and again..." 

"Ah, yeah, those reporters sure like t'make me an unforgettable face, don't they?" 

"Well, it _is_ a good face. But I'm sure that's not what you meant." She stepped back, holding onto his arms for a moment; eyes focusing on the prosthetic with narrowed eyes. "When did this happen?" 

"What, this?" He wiggled his prosthetic fingers, and Angela took that as permission to lift it and examine it thoroughly, noting that it was a modern model, well-maintained, if not a little scratched and dinged up. She wondered if he caught bullets with his hand, and if he did, if she could convince him to stop that terrible habit. "Got it a little while back. Had a bit of an accident, nothin' too serious, Doc." 

"You lost your arm, Jesse." 

"Eh, like I said. Nothin' too serious." 

Angela narrowed her eyes, wrinkling her nose and frowning, before sighing and letting go of his hand. He settled it on his hip, then, smiling down at her. 

"Anyway, I just thought I'd pop in and say hullo. I'll be stickin' around for a while, try an' help out where I can." 

"Missing the good old days?" 

"Sure. Also, it's as good a place as any to lie low for a while." 

"Oh, _Jesse_..." 

"Ah, Doc, old habits die hard." He grinned and tipped his hat to her, before rolling his shoulders and taking a step back towards the door. "I'll see you around, Doctor. Try not t'overwork yourself, y'hear? We need you right as rain." 

"I know how to take care of myself, Jesse, thank you," Angela said with a smile, shaking her head. "Don't be a stranger - but please try not to be injured too often, either." 

"...Old habits, Doc." 

He slid out as Angela puffed out her cheeks in annoyance, his laughter trailing after him. She then turned to see Junkrat hobbling in her direction, muttering to himself and fidgeting with his flask of tea. 

(She knew it was tea because he had offered it to her once during a mission, while it was quiet and she was exhausted zipping this way and that out of danger and to the injured. It had fruit and bobba and a bit of cream in it, and it was fairly refreshing and not at all what she expected from the junker.) 

"Is something wrong, Jamison?" 

"Eh what?" Junkrat looked up, eyes widening as if surprised he was in the medical wing, before shaking his head and scuffing his hand through his hair. "Nah, nah, nothin' wrong, Doc, nothin' like that. Miss Symmetry was glarin' at me th'entire time I was workin', see, an' I just didn't want t'deal with that, not right now. Also, we got some new bloke in the facility. Thinks he's a cowboy or sommodd." He scoffed, shaking his head, and Angela held back a smile at the obviously unimpressed Australian. "Walkin' around in fancy dress, seems downright bonkers t'me." 

"Have you actually met him yet?" 

"Huh? Oh, nah, no, why? Is he stayin'?" Junkrat's eyes widened. "He's not stayin', is he?" 

"His name's Jesse McCree, he was a member of the previous Overwatch. Part of our Blackwatch division. I believe he's come back to help us in our cause."

"...Yer jokin'. Y'had a _cowboy_?" 

"Is this any stranger than an excellent scientist who happens to also be a talking gorilla?" 

"...but a _cowboy_. He's like a walkin', talkin' Western film! One'a the bad ones, even! I saw a few of'em, found 'em borin'. Find most movies borin'. Nothin' compares t'the Outback these days. Y'want adventure? Live a week there." 

"Jamison." Junkrat huffed, and Angela shook her head. "I'm feeling a little hungry. Would you care to join me for a late dinner?" 

Junkrat blinked, staring at her unsurely for a moment, before giving her one of his wide, sharp grins and nodding; hobbling up to her in his uneven gait and stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

"I could do with a bit'uv a tucker meself. Lead the way, Doc." 

~+~

The addition of McCree seemed to bring some sort of balance to their ragtag group of would-be heroes. Though definitely not a mediator, the man from the Southwest definitely had a relaxed air about him, and a way to diffuse tension with little more than a few words and a smile. 

The increased arguments between Symmetra and Junkrat calmed down so much that the two were actually able to talk, discussing boundaries and figuring out spacing so that both could be happy in the shared lab space. Tracer and McCree told stories to one another and trained together, getting rid of some of the excess energy Tracer had been carrying around with her ever since she returned to active duty. 

There were still problems, of course; Torbjörn's brash attitude and short temper, Reinhardt's ability to draw attention and trouble to himself, Roadhog's entirely uncomfortable presence, and Winston's nervousness when it came to leading them all made things a bit difficult. They had meagre funds, but nothing that could make them be the organization they once were - they would need the support and sanction of the UN, then, and that was rather unlikely to happen. 

Angela tried her best to keep her problems to herself, working tirelessly every day with filing, double and triple-checking medical notes, and keeping an eye on everyone without any kind of aid to speak of; all while doing research in her field of study, improving and perfecting the nanobiotic technology and figuring out new ways to deploy it outside of her Caduceus staff and Valkyrie suit. 

It was probably because of these late nights of filing, study, and research that caused her to get shot across the ribs on their latest mission, forcing her to find cover and stay put until her suit could work through the damage. 

Breathing heavily, eyes closed but ears listening intently for any sort of noise, her pistol in hand and her staff by her feet, she held back a groan of pain as her side stung and burned from the bullet wound. Broken skin, deeper than a scratch, bleeding; not the type of bullet to shatter on impact, damage clean, stitches most likely unnecessary. She listed symptoms and analysis to herself to keep aware, tensing every time she heard footsteps and only relaxing when they faded away. 

She held her breath as another set of feet walked by her hiding spot, praying that this would not be the one Talon agent who would find her and finish her off. She only just started to feel the effects of her suit's pharmaceutical purposes kick in, and she thought her scanner was giving her readings that were not at all to her liking concerning her teammates. 

The footsteps stopped, and she pressed her eyes closed and held her pistol closer to her chest, when the familiar jangling of a chain filled her ears and she looked over to see Roadhog and Junkrat standing not too far away, Roadhog standing lookout and Junkrat removing the gigantic tire from his back, muttering and giggling to himself. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he started, his voice echoing in her earpiece, and she realized he actually was wearing his communicator - something he more often than not forgot to wear, and wasn't that just frustrating? He grasped onto a pull-chain on the tire, and Mercy's eyes widened as she realized what the tire was supposed to do, "start your engines!" 

He then yanked the chain, pulling himself back and hopping back an extra foot as the tire growled to life and zipped off out the door and into the fray. 

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" 

Mercy jumped as an explosion followed shortly after, cries of pain echoing in the field but not in the communicators, and she breathed a sigh of relief as Junkrat grinned to himself. The two junkers then turned to her hiding place, and Junkrat hobbled over. "Alright, Doc, y'can come out now." 

"...And how did you know I was here?" 

"Blood drops," Junkrat said, shrugging his shoulders; he looked a bit strange without his tire, now, his back a little less weighed down. He still didn't stand up straight, but Mercy was sure that was just habit at this point. "Plus you got real quiet fer a bit there. Thought two'an'two made four, came t'see if I was right. An' I was! The big one's gettin' worried - the German guy? Makin' noise about comin' t'find ya 'imself. Thought I'd be a better option. Less clankin' and all'a that. Plus I got Roadie here in case we drew too much attention." 

Roadhog nodded, and Mercy swallowed, standing up slowly; picking up her staff and leaning on it for a moment. Junkrat narrowed his eyes, mouth screwing up to the side. 

"You okay there, Doc? Don't look too good." 

"A small injury. I'll take care of it after the mission is through." She breathed in, sighing a little and looking at him. "...Thank you for coming to look for me, Jamison." 

"Yeah, well, teamwork and all'a that, right? I'm gettin' the hang of it." He loped forward, nudging her between himself and Roadhog, and the three made their way out of the building and back towards the others. "Usually you're good 'bout not gettin' too shot at."

"Mistakes happen." 

"It's coz yer tired, Doc. Not sleepin' and all'a that. Roadie told me. Says he sees yer light on more'n not these days." He looked at her, brows furrowed. "Shouldn't work so much, y'know? Should follow yer own advice, get some sleep sometimes. Can't have a sleepy doctor. Make mistakes." 

"I would never put any of your lives at risk, Jamison." 

"Nah, I know, not intentionally. But like y'said - mistakes happen. Yer tired. Focus is all wonky-like. I know what that's like. S'how I lost th'arm and leg, honestly. Weren't payin' attention, made a mistake, kaBOOM!" He shook his head, as if it were a sad tale and not a slightly horrifying one. "Didn't mean ta, s'just happened, y'know? So you gotta look out fer yerself, too, see, 'cause mistakes are shite." 

Mercy pursed her lips before sighing a little, looking away from Junkrat to see their teammates up ahead. Reinhardt was holding up his shield, Tracer behind it but zipping off once in a while to flank the enemy, McCree keeping to corners and shadows so that he could pick off enemies one by one. As the three of them joined them, Mercy engaged her healing stream immediately to the flagging Reinhardt, and the older man turned to look back at her; helmet expressionless but the gratitude felt all the same. 

"You are all right, Angie?" 

Mercy paused, her side still aching faintly, before she smiled and nodded. 

"Right as rain." 

~+~

It was another late night shortly after the mission when Junkrat came into her office with the tea that Roadhog had taken to bringing to her every once in a while. Watching him carefully, she accepted the cup and sipped at it; noting that it was done in the way Roadhog tended to make it. 

"Saw Roadhog with it an' decided t'bring it meself," Junkrat said, shrugging as he threw himself into the chair across from her desk. He groaned as his weight left the peg leg, and Angela narrowed her eyes at the prosthetic. 

"It pains you, does it not?" 

"Hm? Oh, the peg, sure." Junkrat shrugged. "S'gonna, right? Small point t'have all'a me weight on it. Not that I weigh too much!" 

"You have gained some pounds since joining," Angela said, smiling a little when Junkrat look affronted. "This is good - you were underweight before. It concerned me."

"Ah, y'don't gotta worry 'bout me weight of all things, Doc."

"Certainly I do. An unhealthy weight makes for an unhealthy person. Your energy reserves were most likely low, and you would be less resilient. Besides, malnutrition can kill a person. I have seen it happen far too often. If I can help stop it, even in a small way, I will." She looked away from him when his face took on an expression she doubted he wanted seen by anyone, busying herself with her papers and taking a sip of the tea every now and again. When he didn't leave after a few minutes, she glanced up at him again. "Was there anything else?" 

"...You're a different kind of sheila, Doc," Junkrat said, still giving her that look she doubted he wanted seen. She smiled a little, a little ball of contented warmth settling in her chest. "But I should get outta yer hair. Don't burn any candles or nothin', eh, Doc? Sleep's important, too. That's what you keep tellin' me, anyway." 

"I will endeavour to go to bed early tonight," she promised, smile growing a little. "Have a good evening, Jamison." 

"You, too, Doc." 

~+~

Slowly their organization grew as more and more people arrived to help. 

Mei-Ling Zhou appeared out of the blue, telling tales of cryostasis and waking up alone in a world completely different from the one she had left behind. Fareeha Amari, the younger girl a friend from the old days, came with leave from the company she worked for, bringing with her combat expertise and a suit that was a powerhouse. 

Genji arrived as quietly as he had once abandoned Overwatch, with an Omnic priest at his side named Tekhartha Zenyatta. The arrival of Zenyatta created a new kind of tension that hadn't before existed in the outpost, as those with problems against the Omnics - Junkrat and Roadie in particular, but Angela herself was a little wary around them - responded in the only way they could to his presence. 

For the most part, Winston was able to mediate between the junkers and Genji, who had jumped to his mentor's side, and Angela breathed a quiet sigh of relief and inwardly hoped she wouldn't have to spend too much time around the Omnic. It was hard to see them as anything other than violent, as they were what had killed her parents when she had only been a little girl. But she tried to keep her discomfort to herself, if only for Genji's sake.

With the arrival of more people, more of the world began to take notice of the good that Overwatch was doing, and they were beginning to receive donations from those who could afford it. It helped to have more money than just what they could get from jobs and missions. Angela still didn't bother to hire anymore staff - their numbers still small enough to get away with just her watching over everyone - but a few other members volunteered their assistance when they could. Genji was one, as he had once helped her during his time in Overwatch.

Genji had always been a friend, ever since Overwatch agents had brought him, near dead, to her clinic and told her to save him. She had, at a cost, and though she knew he had hated his cyborg body more days than not, he kept his rages mostly to himself and helped her file and organize when he could not sleep. 

Now he did the same, only he did it to help her and show belated gratitude for saving him. (Even if she didn't need him to.) 

Zenyatta helped as well, but mostly kept to one side of the clinic as he did so, sorting and filing and meditating when there was a moment of quiet. His presence oddly brought a sense of peace to her office, and though still wary, she thought perhaps she could trust the Omnic. 

And then McCree helped, but he mostly did heavy lifting and putting away supplies and the like whenever a new shipment came in. 

After a long day of filing, catching up with Genji and listening to the stories her friend and his mentor had about their travels together, and speaking for a short time with McCree about doing some maintenance on his arm and catching up properly with drinks in the near future, Angela was in the common room; the television that Tracer had thought to bring in on but muted, her eyes half-closed and drowsy as she fought off sleep. Other members came in and out but didn't disturb her; Winston draping the afghan blanket on the back of the couch over her when she was particularly out of it. 

She only stirred once, nearly asleep and a little confused, when she was lifted up, afghan and all. 

"Mmm?" 

"Oh, hey, no, s'okay, Doc, Roadie and I're just takin' ye back t'yer room. Couch ain't no place to sleep, not when you got a comfy bed'n'all. Yer knackered, jus' go back t'sleep, s'all good, promise."

Angela sighed, closing her eyes and resting her head against what she assumed was Roadhog's shoulder; mind vaguely wondering if she should be worried that the junker was carrying her while she was so vulnerable. She then decided that they were fine; that if Roadhog or Junkrat had wanted to hurt them by now, they had had ample time already. They were valuable members of the team. She needed to learn to trust them a little more. 

"...thank you, Jamie," she mumbled at last. She fell asleep too quickly to hear any reply or see the look on Junkrat's face. 

When she next saw the two at breakfast that morning, she smiled and thanked them for taking her back to the female crew quarters the evening before. 

"No trouble, right Roadie?" Junkrat looked over at Roadhog, grinning his usual grin. "To the big guy, you're probably a sack'o'feathers, honest." 

"Still, Jamison--" 

"Jamie." 

Angela blinked, eyebrows raising. "Excuse me?" 

"Y'called me that last night. I like it better, is all." 

Angela bit her lip, tilting her head, before smiling a little and nodding. 

"Alright, Jamie. Thank you all the same. It was a kind gesture." She heard someone calling her name - Mei or Genji, from the look of it, and she turned to the two junkers with an apologetic smile. "I will see you later?" 

"Yeah, sure," Junkrat waved his hand, but he was still smiling, and Angela nodded and turned away. She sat down with the others, feeling comfortable in the fact that she had, perhaps, just made a couple of new, unlikely friends. 

Maybe Overwatch re-establishing itself wasn't entirely bad. It had been such a long time since she'd felt like she had a family again. 

~+~

"Jamie, Jesse tells me you've been bothering him." 

"Hmmm?" Junkrat looked up from his work at his workstation, hands nimble in their handling of the concussion mind in his hand. She rested her hands on her hips, and he grinned up at her. "Ah, it's nothin', Doc, promise." 

" _Jamie_." 

"He's been makin' eyes at ya, Doc. Cow eyes or whatever. Just tryin' to make him turn his attention elsewhere. Maybe some other sheila. Maybe a bloke, I don't care none." 

Angela paused, feeling a flush spread across her cheeks, and Junkrat took that moment to properly look at her; brows furrowing as he noticed the blush. 

"... _no_." 

"What--" 

"Angie, _no_ , you can't be serious, can ya?" 

"Jamie, I don't know what you're talking about--" 

"Not _Old McDonald_." 

"I can like whoever I wish to like, Jamie!" Angela said, crossing her arms and flush brightening on her pale skin. She mentally cursed her complexion. "It's none of your business!" 

"But he walks around in _fancy dress_ actin' like a Western movie! _Angie_ \--" 

" _Jamie_ \-- wait, since when do you call me Angie?" 

"Uh." Junkrat blinked, thrown off. "...since now? It slipped out, didn't mean nothin'--" 

"I don't mind, I was just surprised--" 

"Oh, well-- wait, no, me point still stands!" 

Angela huffed, wrinkling her nose but feeling a smile on her lips. "Jamie, really, Jesse is a perfectly nice man, very gentlemanly--" 

"A cocky bloke walkin' around in a blanket, more like," Junkrat muttered mutinously. Angela narrowed her eyes. 

"So what's this I've heard about you walking Ms Vaswani back to the crew quarters last night?" 

"What?" 

"Oh, yes, apparently Hana noticed it." Hana Song, also called D.Va, was their newest recruit; a young girl from South Korea who piloted a high-tech mech to fight Omnics and other enemies with skill and precision. Though Angela thought she was far too young, she was good at what she did, and the doctor couldn't argue with that. "Thought it was very sweet. She said you even managed to make Ms Vaswani laugh - I am glad you two are starting to get along." 

Junkrat stared at Angela for a long moment, mouth slightly open and expression flabbergasted, before he pointed at her with one mechanical finger and squinted at her. 

"... Oh, fine, I'll lay off." 

Angela smiled, prim and lovely and feeling just a little smug. 

"Super." 

~+~

Months later, the outpost received the last of its newest recruits. 

They had already gained Hanzo Shimada, Genji's older brother, and Angela had given the man the cold shoulder for days before Genji asked her not to; that he had forgiven his brother and was helping him work on forgiving himself. She stopped, but only just, instead treating him politely but not searching out his company most days. 

They had also accepted the aid of a Bastion unit, which had made Angela uncomfortable for weeks; avoiding the kindly Omnic and doing her best to keep Junkrat and Roadhog away from it, as well. 

The musical DJ, Lúcio, came right to them while on a mission, showing them what he could do and why he would be valuable in helping them in their cause. He and Symmetra did not typically get along: Symmetra's home company of Vishkar being the reason Lúcio's home had gone through its own revolution souring any sort of camaraderie the two could have developed upon meeting. But they typically kept any bickering to themselves, or at least restrained to tight comments before and after missions. 

A Russian bodybuilder-turned-soldier who called herself Zarya came into the fold and nearly smashed both of their Omnic companions' heads in, only stopped by Winston and his calm explanations. She kept away from them, as well, sticking mostly with Torbjörn and trying different types of alcohol with the older Shimada brother to see whose country had the better drinks. Which was foolishness, but harmless enough. 

A shaky sort of alliance formed, with people putting aside their biases and differences long enough to help where they were needed; from ensuring that Omnic directors were not slaughtered by angry rioters in Hollywood, to taking down different criminal organizations in King's Row and Hanamura, to stopping Talon agents from stealing the Doomfist gauntlet on its route to the Numbani museum display. 

It was during a moment of calm, everyone watching D.Va and Lúcio playing a video game; D.Va currently winning by a mile. Angela was laughing while Lúcio swore, leaning against McCree's shoulder and enjoying the warmth of his arm just against her neck, where it rested on the back of the couch. Junkrat was sitting on the floor, legs sprawled out in front of him as Symmetra showed him how her hard-light constructing gauntlet worked, and for the moment it felt like the old days but almost better, because there was no underlying tension and the world didn't hate them just yet. 

And then two ghosts walked into the room after a shocked-looking Winston, and everyone froze. 

Ana Amari, who everyone from Overwatch of old swore was dead, looked over them all with a fond eye and an eyepatch that had never been there before. Angela could hear Pharah's quiet gasp from her other side, the younger woman straightening up and lurching to her feet. 

"Mother...?" 

"Oh, Fareeha, you've grown so well." Ana smiled, looking up at her daughter as Pharah stumbled over to her. The older woman cupped her cheeks and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and Phara thunked her head on Ana's shoulder; hands gripping the back of her coat in a way that promised emotion and also questions for later. Angela sat up straight, McCree's arm falling around her shoulders as they stared at the woman; and Ana turned to the man in the mask Angela recalled Junkrat mentioning once in Dorado, tsk'ing at him. 

"Take off that foolish mask, Jack," she said, and Angela's hand clapped over her mouth as McCree swore and Reinhardt leapt to his feet. 

The white-haired, masked man (who Angela realized was the vigilante known as Soldier: 76, judging by the coat that had been described by wanted posters so clearly) gave a long sigh and reached up, pulling off his mask and revealing the face of a dead man. 

"Jack Morrison...?" Angela whispered. Jack looked at her, grimaced, and nodded, and Angela felt her eyes well up with tears before she was on her feet and leaving the room completely; ignoring the calls of her name and the scorning that Reinhardt was giving Jack now for letting them all think he was dead for so long; for allowing them to bury and mourn him and never telling them he was _alive_. 

She stopped walking once she reached the door to her office, leaning heavily against it and pressing her hand to her eyes; holding back any kind of sob that wanted to escape her. Memories long repressed came to the forefront, of a dying man gargling out that he had killed him, he had killed Jack, and he'd do it again and again even as she tried to save him. 

If she couldn't save Jack, she thought, she could save Gabriel - but had she? Had she? 

A hand on her shoulder made her jump, and she twisted around to see Junkrat there, hands up, placating; expression one of confusion and a hint of concern, she thought. She swallowed, sniffed, and gave him a watery smile. 

"Now that don't look like you, Angie," Junkrat said, and Angela brushed unshed tears from her eyes, looking away from him. "This Jack Morrison guy - big name?" 

"... he was a friend," she said softly, looking at her hands. "A friend, and I thought he was dead, and I had failed him. I failed to save him." 

"Don't believe that," Junkrat said, shaking his head. "I don't, not fer a tic, don't seem like you. You probably did all y'could, right? Did what ya could, but couldn't do much else. Ain't yer fault, either way. More'n likely his own fault, yeah? More'n likely he did something, screwed up, made his own type of 'splosion. Mistakes happen, right Angie? Can't stop 'em, can only fix 'em. He probably made a mistake you couldn't fix. That's fine. Not yer mistake t'worry about. Best he apologizes, though." 

"Oh?" Angela asked, smiling faintly, but feeling a little more stable. "And why is that?" 

"Well he made ya cry, didn't'e? That's a no-go. Think Old McDonald was already gettin' int'im 'bout that when I decided to check out what's what. Now c'mon, let's go to the kitchen - Roadie's makin' some tea, it'll be good, help calm everyone down and then we can talk all proper-like. S'what you like to do, right, talk? Personally I'd probably punch 'em in the face, but I'm pretty sure the cyborg's gonna go an' do that. He looked all angry'n'what have ya." 

"...Must violence always be the solution?" Angela asked, following after Junkrat when he took her hand lightly and started to lead her back down the hall. 

"Eh, like Roadie would say, violence is usually the answer." 

Angela wrinkled her nose, and Junkrat grinned at her his wide, sharp grin. She looked at him for a moment before smiling a little bit bigger than before, squeezing the rudimentary metal of his prosthetic and feeling a warm ball of contentedness when he squeezed back. 

"...Thank you, Jamie." 

"Fer what?" 

"...for being my friend." 

Junkrat stared at her, biting his lip, before smiling and dragging her happily into the kitchen; loping gait carrying him over to the foreboding figure of Roadhog carefully pouring out a few cups of tea. 

"Glad I am, Doc. Glad I am."

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for Theycallmethanatos, one of my very favourite people, who friendships these two just as much as I do.


End file.
